The Legend of 520

They say that 520 belongs to no man. But every man belongs to 520.

520 is an enigma and a conundrum, a question and an answer, a vortex of genius and stupidity, all wrapped up in a crispy internet tortilla. With vegetables.  Guacamole will cost you extra, but it’s well worth it to cover the awful flavor.

520 doesn’t care if you understand it or not, because, like that stain on the carpet, it cannot be explained.

520 defies the principles of space and time, existing simultaneously in four separate locations and two different decades.

In the first decade, 520 came together in Boston under the banner of the Husky. In a brilliant fusion of sandwiches, bell peppers and adventure, five disturbed souls became one.  Just like the Big Bang, no homo.

Wojo brought Kidz Bop and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The Hoffstar brought Frisbees and attention deficit.

B Money brought guitars and liberal sarcasm.

The Conman brought wifebeaters, alcohol and a raging erection.

DG, like a deer in headlights, simply brought his rape whistle.

While others sought to join pre-established groups, 520 marched to the beat of its own drums. Electronic drums, played by The Hoffstar. The music it made in that first glorious year was like one hundred Jim Carrey’s all singing at once.  Neighboring tribes were both fascinated and disgusted. When 520 discovered the internet, humanity lost all hope.

As the first decade wore on, the perverted genius of 520 infected I mean revolutionized the internet blogging community. All useful discussion ground to a halt.  Civilized debate was replaced by rambling babbles.  Intelligent conversations were drowned in juvenile awkwardness.  Productivity turned to delinquency.  It was a truly magnificent era in internet history.  But it couldn’t last.

A vegetable, when dropped from a 5^th floor fire-escape, will accelerate at a rate of 9.8 meters-per-second-squared until it hits the chalk target on the ground and splatters.  However, the internet has no ground and so, unlike its wasted cucumbers, 520 kept on going lower and lower.  So low, in fact, that it lost its will to sustain itself.  As the years wore on, 520 began to fizzle.  Like a trick birthday candle, just when you thought it was out it would flame back up, but eventually the wick burnt down until there was nothing left to burn.  Finally, like the last swirling bits of poop in the toilet of our culture, 520 disappeared down the drain of the internet.

But it didn’t die.  It hibernated in the pipes, wrapping itself into a cocoon.  It grew roots far and wide, secretly spreading itself out across the country, from east to west coast.  Biding its time as the decade wore to a close, it waited underground, recuperating its mind and growing stronger, into something more awesome and grotesque than civilization could possibly imagine.  It waited, until the time was right to once again reveal itself to the world.

Now, in the dawn of the new decade, that time has finally come.  At long last, 520 has returned.

Hide your women and children…